The Once Upon A Time Affair:A case of mistaken identity
by MLaw
Summary: Sometimes an U.N.C.L.ent can be at the right place at the wrong time, or is that wrong place at the right time? Written for the Once Upon a Time Affair Challenge on Section VII Live Journal.


**The Prompt –**

It was supposed to have been a simple milk run. All he'd had to do was place the package in the designated location, and then leave. As he sat in the back of the truck, with his hands cuffed behind him, and his broken nose throbbing, {Napoleon or Illya} began to wonder if it wasn't time to get out of the spy game.

 **The Theme:** Melancholy

.

It was supposed to have been a simple milk run. All he'd had to do was place the package in the designated location, and then leave. As he sat in the back of the truck with his hands cuffed behind him, and his broken nose throbbing, he began to wonder if it wasn't time to get out of the spy game.

Napoleon Solo was a man not prone to giving up, but the way he felt right now, humiliated and in pain, his usual optimistic mood was definitely being brought down.

He wondered for a moment if he was suffering from a fit of melancholia like his partner when a situation took an unexpected down turn. Then again Illya was Russian afterall, and as far as Napoleon knew, heavy heartedness was something of a national pastime in the U.S.S.R.

This was supposed to have been a milk run...a simple dead drop and nothing for an agent of Solo's caliber. Yet here he was in trouble.

Initially, the job was assigned to a Section III agent named Timothy Ridgewood.

" _But nooooo, you had to be Mister Nice Guy!"_ Napoleon thought to himself as he suffered a bumpy ride in the back of that truck. The bench seat wasn't exactly built for comfort. The driver seemed to hit every every possible pothole.

Ridgewood was young, a bit green and definitely needed to work on his time management. Tim had accepted the job to do the drop, but he got things mixed up and forgot he agreed to deliver a courier pouch on the other side of town at the same time he was scheduled to do the dead drop.

Napoleon decided to give the greenhorn a break and took the dead drop for him.

Such an operation, used for the exchange of intelligence information, didn't require anyone to meet. The information was simply left at a prearranged location. One person left the package, or whatever form the intelligence took, and another person would retrieve it.

Piece of cake, or so Napoleon thought.

Nope, big mistake.

Solo had taken the small package to the designated location, and the next thing he knew he was pulled down to the ground in a headlock.

He realized it was a rather burly police officer, assisted by several other brothers in blue, and they had Solo flat on his face.

"Hold on a second!" Napoleon tried to talk."I'm with the U.N.C.L.E. Check my ID!"

In the struggle Napoleon's Special was found and confiscated. No one would listen to him since he was armed.

In the ensuing struggle someone kicked Napoleon right in the nose, and there were several blows delivered to his side.

"Shut up dirtbag!" One gunho officer pounded him.

"Stop struggling! You're only making it worse!"

Another of the arresting officers shouted. "We got you dead to rights pal."

Solo was hefted into the back of a blue truck, sometimes referred to as the 'Paddy Wagon', and off they went to the nearest precinct for the prisoner to be booked.

Napoleon was hauled into the police station, and made to stand, while his nose was bleeding profusely, in front of the desk sergeant who would be booking the prisoner.

"We got him Sarge," Officer Tackleberry said."This is the guy. He was carrying this."

Solo's gun, communicator, wallet and money clip, containing some large bills, were handed over.

In the meantime Napoleon was in a lot of pain with his face bloodied, as was the collar of his new silk shirt and suit jacket. They may have broken his ribs too as he was feeling a bit woozy.

The sergeant picked up the money clip and tapped it on the desk as he spoke.

"Quite a wad of cash you have here, get it from fencing stolen jewelry?"

"Umm, I wouldn't keep doing that if I were you,and definitely don't drop it," Napoleon said as he nervously eyed his money clip.

"Why's it gonna explode," the sergeant laughed.

"Actually it might."

That gave the man a moment's pause for all of two seconds. He looked at it more closely and realized the money was fake. "You been passing funny money?"

"No, it's just left over Monopoly money. I won big in a marathon game with my friends,"Solo quipped.

"Enough of your wisecracks buddy! Now let's get down to business. What were you doing loitering outside Mendelson's Jewelers in the middle of the night? Planning a heist, casing the place?"

"Firstly, the name isn't buddy, it's Napoleon Solo. I work for the U.N.C.L.E. if you'll just check my ID. I'm sure we can clear this up. I'm not the person…" He tried to maintain his composure, despite the pain he was feeling.

"Look buddy or Solo or whatever your name is. I don't care what kind of a monkey's uncle you work for. You match the description of a guy we were tipped off about who was going to rob the jewelers. My men picked you up there in the middle of the night carrying a loaded gun. I'd say it' a pretty open and shut case."

"Hey Sarge," one of the arresting officers, interrupted." Just got word over the radio. Mendelson's _was_ robbed, this guy must have gotten in through a skylight and bypassed the alarm system. The safe was cleaned out. Me and the boys are going to go celebrate catching him after our shift is done."

"There'll be no celebrating on my watch Mahoney, now get back on the street as soon as we're done here. You're gonna do a double shift."

"Aw come on Sarge!"

"None of your guff Mahoney! Now move it!"

Officer Mahoney made a quick exit out the door, but not before he thumbed his nose at his supervisor, unbeknownst to Sergeant Fackler.

"All right Solo where'd you hide the jewels?" He turned his attention back to Napoleon.

"I'm telling you, you have the wrong man. Now if you'll just call the number on the back of the gold ID card in my wallet and ask for Alexander Waverly, I assure you, he'll straighten this out."

"Ah baloney!" Take him away, and Tackleberry, get him a towel for his nose and some ice."

"Yes sir Sergeant." Officer Tackleberry saluted military style and drew his revolver, a rather large .44 Magnum, not exactly standard issue for a police officer.

That made the injured agent a bit nervous as the officer aimed it right at Napoleon. The man was wearing Aviator style wearing sunglasses, even though it was now one in the morning. He looked more like an MP than a police officer.

Napoleon sat alone, stewing in a holding sell, nursing his broken nose and his pride.

"Hey, don't I get a phone call?" He finally shouted out.

"Please be quiet in there, I'm trying to take a nap. I didn't sleep well last night," a heavy set guard named Officer Barbara called back.

Sergeant Fackler handed over Solo's belongings the the precinct Captain, Thaddeus Harris who was a stickler for procedure, though a bit of a brown noser with his superiors.

"We got the guy who robbed Mendelson's; this is what he was carrying. He won't tell us what he did with the jewelry," Fackler said.

"Well I'll get it out of him. Bring him to my office," Harris said.

Apparently Feckler didn't move fast enough to suit him

"Let's go, move it movie it move it!"

Harris looked through Napoleon's wallet, finding his driver's license, and a weird looking yellow card that said U.N.C.L.E, It had the same name on it as the license. It looked like some sort of credit card, but there was only a phone number on the back.

"Napoleon Solo?" What the hell kind of name is that?"

The prisoner arrived, duly handcuffed, and Officer Mahoney stood guard near the door.

"You realize you're going to be charged with a serious crime don't you Mr. Solo?" Harris said. He strutted around the desk with a riding crop tucked under his are,

"Did you have anyone help you?" He pointed a riding crop in an accusatory manor dangerously close to Napoleon's face.

Solo pulled back, not quite expecting last thing he wanted was to get smacked in the nose again.

"If you give them up and tell us where the loot is, I'll ask the judge to go easy on you."

"I have repeatedly said sir that you have the wrong man. If you call the number on the back of that yellow ID card, my boss will verify who I am…"

Napoleon's communicator suddenly warbled.

"What the hell is that?" Harris demanded as he looked at the pen on his desk.

"That would be my commun...it's like a radio. If you just pull out the antenna at one end, and flip the top around, that's the microphone."

Harris did it and immediately heard a voice.

"Napoleon it is Illya, where the devil are you? You were supposed to return hours ago."

"Oh one of your partners?" Harris snorted.

"Not that kind of partner." Solo called out," Illya I've been arrested. They think I robbed a jewelry store near the drop site."

"Have they not contacted Mr. Waverly?"

"No!" Napoleon shouted before being interrupted.

"Hey buddy I don't know who you are...you sound like some sort of foreigner?" Harris barked. "Illya's a Russkie name right?"

"Not sort of, I am indeed Russian and to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"I'm Captain Harris of the New York City Police department. Your partner in crime is here at the 22nd Precinct, and if you want to turn yourself in, that would be mighty nice of you."

"Turn myself in for what?" Illya was confused.

"For robbing Mendelson's Jewelry store tonight!"

"Captain Hurris, you are grievously mistaken."

"It's Harris and who the hell are you then?"

"I am Illya Kuryakin and I am an operative for the U.N.C.L.E. Napoleon, I will straighten out his fool. Kuryakin out."

Five minutes later the telephone rang, and Harris slowly picked up the receiver.

"Sergeant Harris here...oh yes sir Commandant. Yes sir I see and I'll be expecting a call as soon as we hang up? Yes sir I understand sir. Thank you sir. You have a good evening, yes sir I realize you were woken up from a good night's sleep. No sir I won't let it happen again. Good night sir."

As soon as Harris hung up the telephone rang again as he was told it would.

"Sergeant Harris here…." he listened carefully.

"Yes sir Mr. Waverly sir. I just finished speaking with Commandant Lassard. Yes sir it was my men's mistake...they umm, refused to look at Mister Solo's identification and coincidentally your man did fit the description of our suspect, and Mr. Solo was acting a bit suspiciously as he was at the scene of a robbery. It was an honest mistake. Yes sir, I understand. It won't happen again sir. I'll speak to my men. Good night sir and it was and honor…"

"Click" Waverly hung up on him.

There was a knock at Harris' door.

" _What is it!_ " It was obvious he was a bit tense.

The door opened and in barged Kuryakin, dragging a man dressed in black by the back of his jacket; he had an uncanny resemblance to Napoleon.

In Illya's other hand was a black leather valise, which he tossed on Harris' desk.

"Who the hell are you?" The sergeant barked, as he stood from his chair.

"I am the so called Russian, Illya Kuryakin, and this man is Douglas Lennox your thief. I think you will find all the stolen jewelry in that bag. Now it is my understanding that Mr. Solo is free to go?"

"Ugh...umm, why yes," Harris stuttered, wondering how this guy knew.

"Next time tell your officers to do a better job. I found Lennox not two blocks from the scene of the crime"

"Oh," Napoleon said as he rose from his chair. He held out his wrists to be uncuffed, which Harris quickly obliged.

"By the way,"Solo added,"you'll be getting a bill from my organization for medical expenses as well for the replacement of this rather expensive shirt and suit."

Harris stood there with his mouth hanging open.

The agents quickly left the building, outside to an awaiting car.

"You know I do not think I have ever seen your nose broken," Illya said as he slipped into the back seat.

Napoleon sat beside him, still obviously in pain.

"It gives your face a bit of character,"Illya smiled.

"Keep it up funny boy and you'll have a nose to match mine."

"Tsk, such ingratitude after I have come to your rescue."

"I'm grateful, trust me...just not in the mood. Makes me want to get out of the spy business."

"You know you never will, nor will I."

"You're right tovarisch, but it's the last time I do a favor for a Section III agent. I get into enough trouble on my own assignments. You too."

Illya nodded his agreement.

"Where to mates?" The driver was none other than Mark Slate."Nice nose Napoleon."

"Shut up Mark," Solo growled. "Just get me to Mount Sinai hospital, and on the double please?"

"Not headquarters?"

"We don't have a plastic surgeon on staff,"Napoleon replied.

"A plastic surgeon?"Illya asked. "Why would...?" He looked again at his partner's swollen and bloody nose and that reminded him of Solo's vanity.

"Never mind," the Russian shrugged.


End file.
